


A Smooth Sea Never Made a Skilled Sailor

by phabulousphantom



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, England (Country), M/M, Napoleonic Wars, One Shot, The Royal Navy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 13:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17121863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phabulousphantom/pseuds/phabulousphantom
Summary: Keith is a captain in the Royal Navy. Lance is the son of a merchant sailor.





	A Smooth Sea Never Made a Skilled Sailor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thetolkiengeek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetolkiengeek/gifts).



> Happy Secret Shiroflake, m'dear!
> 
> This was such an absolute pleasure to write! I had a hard time keeping it within range of a sensible word count. 
> 
> Brighton is one of my favorite places on this planet.
> 
> ENJOY!

_Brighton, East Sussex – 1815_

Royal Crescent faced the sea. An appropriate residence, as the McClains were a sea-facing family. With one son in the Service, the elderly patriarch a retired merchant sailor who had built a small shipping empire, the current patriarch the lord of that empire, and the eldest son a partner in the company, their livelihoods depended very much upon the sea’s blessing.

            Lance stood on their stoop facing it, then—the late morning light easy on the water. Royal Crescent was Brighton’s eastern boundary, and with nothing but rolling green coast to his right, Lance often felt as though his family lived on the perfect edge of the world.

            It didn’t hurt that the Prince of Wales had also made Brighton one of the most fashionable places to live and holiday.

            That very Prince’s effigy stood on a ten-foot tall plinth in the gardens in front of the Crescent, but several years of sea spray and winds had worn the poor thing down so much, his right arm had entirely dropped off. Passersby had begun mistaking the statue for Lord Nelson, which displeased the Prince, but suited the McClains just fine. Admiral Lord Nelson was practically a god in their household pantheon.

            As the youngest son, Lance did not have a direct obligation to the sea—his familial duty was to find a wealthy, well-stationed young woman to marry—but that did not mean he loved it any less. A favorite shanty hummed its way from his lips without his knowing as he gazed upon the English Channel. Marco would be coming home today.

            “Careful with that siren’s song, Mr. McClain,” warned a good-natured voice from one stoop over. “You’ll lure all the sailors to their doom.”

            Lance turned his face to flash a smile at their neighbor just lately stepped onto his porch.

            “And who’s to say that is not my explicit purpose, Mr. Holt?”

            Shutting his front door, Matthew returned Lance with a toothy grin. “La, but you’re a snake charmer.”

            “Then that would make you a snake.”

            Matthew laughed. “Touché,” he said, performing an unpracticed fencing motion with his right hand. “Say, doesn’t your brother return today?”

            Nodding, Lance found himself smiling. He could hardly believe that Marco had survived the wars with Napoleon, much less made commission as captain in the process. The whole McClain clan was itching to have him home again after so many years at sea.

            “From Portsmouth,” Lance said.

            “I’ll bet he’s bringing back a pair of ‘bonny sailor laddies’ for your sisters,” Matthew teased, stepping from his porch to head off down the street about his business.

            “And one for me, too,” Lance called after him.

            Raising his hand to wave goodbye, Matthew laughed. Lance was lucky the man never took him seriously. He should have better guarded his tongue when it came to such matters, but he found sometimes that he could not contain it—that he had to let his true nature slip out now and again to gasp for air, like he let the next verse of that shanty slip from his mouth then:

                        _Some delight in jolly farmers,_

_Some delight in soldiers free;_

_But my delight’s in a sailor laddie,_

_Blithe and merry may he be._

***

Marco was received with all the clamor and fanfare one might expect from so boisterous a family, and his return garnered them not only a brother, but also invitations to a private party at the Old Ship that night.

            The McClains spared nothing in their preparations, save Veronica, who cared little for parties, but cared greatly for her brother, and so conceded to go out all the same. Rachel in particular had outdone herself, pretty as a whitecap in her new muslin gown. She walked arm in arm with Lance, who had also outdone himself, but _he_ was not on Brighton’s list of extremely eligible young ladies—however much he joked the opposite.

            “He looks so well,” Rachel remarked, smiling ahead at Marco, who was escorting Veronica. “A captain’s uniform suits him.”

            “Really? You don’t think all that gold on his shoulders makes his head look small?”

            Rachel smacked Lance’s chest, but chuckled. “Don’t be a tease.”

            “Merely playing my assigned role, sister dear.”

            Lifting her eyes, Rachel gave Lance a curious look. He was careful not to answer her with anything more than a mask of nonchalance. He had a reputation for being the biggest flirt in Brighton. It was a reputation he had cultivated, but one that no longer suited him as well as it once had. However, in society, a reputation was a reputation and the moment one strayed from his part—even if that part was in itself disreputable—one found himself making unwelcome waves. Of his family, Veronica alone knew Lance’s discomfort, and then only because she made plenty of waves herself.

            “Lance—”

            But they’d arrived at the Old Ship by then, and Lance hurried his sister up the stairs and inside where the party was sure to distract her.

            The assembly rooms at the Old Ship were large and well-lit, warm and welcoming. A band played a quadrille at the far end for a throng of dancers, and already the gathering of people there to watch or talk along the edges of the room was sizable—as was the number of men in Navy uniforms.

            “I have some friends from the Service I want to introduce to you,” Marco said, pulling Veronica around to face Lance and Rachel. Their parents disappeared along with Luis and Lisa into the crowd.

            “How are you going to find them?” Lance asked. “Half the room is wearing blue.”

            Marco cast an appraising gaze on Lance’s red satin coat as if to communicate that he knew precisely how calculated the choice of color had been. Lance raised a smug eyebrow.

            “We’ll find them,” Marco replied with a grin.

            “Then while you search, perhaps my charming sister would favor me with a dance?” Lance asked, sliding his arm through Rachel’s hand until he could clasp it with his own. “I absolutely must show her off. Remind all these sailors what they’ve been missing.”

            Rachel blushed, but nodded, and let Lance lead her to the floor as the next dance began.

            At most public assemblies, Lance spent the evening dancing every number with a variety of partners. Though a flirt, his attentions were equal, and society tended to tolerate the things they didn’t like about him in favor of his cheerful demeanor and pleasant company. To his credit, he earned more amused eyerolls than actual ire.

            As the song finished, Lance bowed to Rachel and applauded the band, then collected his sister to his arm to go in search of Marco and Veronica, noticing the many looks of admiration Rachel received as they passed through the crowd. His sister was a great beauty—not as flashy as Veronica, but stunning all the same. Lance was always proud to have her on his arm, proud to see her asked to dance by every sort of gentleman. Rachel herself was not shy, but she acted the part like a professional, clinging close to him and keeping her eyes on the ground as she smiled, equally aware of the attention she received.

            “I think you just might be the prettiest thing in the room,” Lance remarked, but was soon to redact the statement.

            He’d located Marco and Veronica, near the far corner, and it looked as though his brother had found the aforementioned friends he’d wanted to introduce. One was a large man with thick shoulders and tan skin, his kind, round face lit by a smile. The other was the reason for Lance’s redaction.

            The man was perhaps only a few inches shorter than Lance, slender in a lean and powerful way. His captain’s uniform fit snug across his chest and shoulders and narrow waist. Thick, black hair adorned his head in wind-touched waves like he’d just stepped off a ship. Smooth, pale skin. Sharp features. A scar that crept across his face from his chin to his cheekbone. And his eyes—violet, like the depths of a turbulent sea.

            Those eyes stopped Lance dead in his tracks.

            “Lance?” Rachel asked, her voice soft, concerned as she’d been forced to halt with him.

            He shook himself out of his stupor and pressed forward, neglecting to answer Rachel and plastering an expression of feigned confidence to his face as they approached their siblings. Marco noticed them with a smile.

            “Ah, perfect timing,” he said, gesturing for the pair to join the circle. “Captain Garrett, Captain Kogane, this is my younger brother, Mr. Lance McClain, and my younger sister, Miss Rachel McClain. Rachel, Lance, these are Captains Garrett and Kogane of the HMS _Canary_ and _Lancelot_ respectively.”

            The group offered the appropriate bows and curtsies. Lance seemed unable to remove his eyes from Captain Kogane’s face.

            “Miss Rachel,” Captain Garrett said, offering his arm. “Would you like to dance?”

            Smiling, Rachel nodded and slipped free of Lance to go with Captain Garrett. Scarcely had Lance noted Rachel’s absence than Marco was dragging Veronica off to the floor to join them, saying, “You gentlemen keep each other company a moment!”

            Lance opened his mouth to protest, but found he could not—nor did he want to. His eyes flicked back to Captain Kogane, to his inscrutably handsome face, and Lance tried to settle the nerves rolling in his stomach by making conversation.

            “Do you dance, Captain?” he asked.

            “Not when I can help it,” came the reply.

            Lance laughed, which brought the captain’s eyes to his, and the laughter died in his throat. He had never before seen eyes like these, eyes with so much depth as to make them unfathomable. He could not guess at Captain Kogane’s humor, nor what might have been going through his mind. The man seemed somehow deeply troubled while at the same time undisturbed. Clearing his throat, Lance looked away.

            “Come now,” he said, attempting a jovial mien, “there must be at least _one_ lady present that would make a suitable partner.”

            “I doubt it.”

            Lance bristled at that. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be so hasty to judge.”

            “Perhaps you should keep your opinions to yourself.”

            Hackles raised, Lance turned to face the captain. “I happen to be acquainted every young lady in attendance tonight, and each of them is a fine example of womanhood. _Especially_ my sisters. Do not presume to enter a social circle in which you know no one and proclaim them all beneath you.”

            Captain Kogane squared his shoulders, but not in challenge. He offered no response to Lance outside of a cold stare. Lance could not bear much more than a moment under the weight of it. Huffing, he looked away.

            The pair of them were silent.

            Eventually, Captain Kogane spoke. “It was not my intention to offend,” he said.

            “Nor mine,” Lance replied.

            They were silent again.

            “You’re friends with my brother, then?” Lance asked.

            “Captain McClain is a fine sailor,” Kogane replied. “It was an honor to serve with him.”

            Lance glanced at the captain and found his expression sincere, eyes cast across the room, but not truly gazing on it. He looked as though he was viewing some distant memory.

            The music ended, and the dancers applauded, which signaled the return of the rest of their party. Marco, Veronica, Rachel, and Captain Garrett all arrived slightly breathless with their faces alight.

            Conversation was easier then, but Lance found himself curiously outside it—not for exclusion but for his own lack of anything to say. He listened to his brother and Captain Garrett tell stories of the Service, listened to the questions Rachel and Veronica asked, listened as Captain Kogane was coaxed into telling a few stories of his own. As the evening progressed through dinner and another round of dances, Lance learned several things about the captain.

            One, he was stoic and secretive of temperament.

            Two, he had made quite a fortune during the war.

            Three, he was completely unattached.

            Lance noticed the attentions Captain Kogane received as keenly as he had noticed the attentions paid to Rachel. Practically every one of the unmarried young ladies in attendance, and even some of the married ones, cast their eyes upon the man with interest. Where Captain Kogane and Rachel differed, however, was in their response. Rachel relished the attention; Kogane ignored it.

            Toward the end of the evening, Lance found himself obliged to keep the man company once more while Captain Garrett and Marco swapped their initial partners for a final dance.

            “Do you not think my sister very handsome?” Lance observed, directing his gaze and Captain Kogane’s across the floor to where Rachel and Marco stood ready for the scotch reel. He was fishing for something, though he was not entirely sure what.

            A sly smile unfolded on Captain Kogane’s lips.

            “I think your family handsome on the whole, Mr. McClain.”

            His eyes flicked up and met with Lance’s, and Lance found his heart racing for a reason he could not comprehend.

            “Is that so?” he asked, surprising himself with the coquettish confidence in his voice.

            Saying nothing and offering only another smile, Captain Kogane returned his eyes to the dance floor and tracked the couples in their lively steps.

            “You _did_ say none of the ladies present would make suitable partners,” Lance added.

            “I did.”

            Lance had meant his observation as a sort of final jab, but Kogane’s response utterly disarmed him. Had the man been speaking to anyone else, the response might have seemed cavalier or unkind—at the very least confusing. But he had not been speaking to anyone else. He had been speaking to Lance, and Lance felt in that moment as though something inside Captain Kogane had come out to draw in a gasp of air. Lance stared at him. Kogane stared back.

            “Tell me, Captain, will you be in Brighton long?”

            “I have no other engagements.”

            “It’s a lovely city.”

            “Gaudy.”

            “ _Tasteful_.”

            “Gleefully inauthentic.”

            Kogane smiled, a challenge in his eyes. Lance’s heart raced once more, and he found himself smiling as well.

            “Perhaps, then, you will allow me to educate you on what Brighton has to offer,” he said.

            “I would be most obliged, Mr. McClain.”

            Something in the way his name rolled from between Captain Kogane’s lips had every one of Lance’s hairs standing on end. At once, he found inside himself a desperate desire to kiss those lips, to taste his name upon them, to force it from them again and again. A blush crept into his cheeks at the thought. This man was a perfect stranger.

            A wealthy, handsome stranger.

            “My family is taking a picnic out to Seven Sisters tomorrow, Captain,” he said, “and if Marco doesn’t insist that you join us, I will.” Then, as an added protection, “Captain Garrett would be most welcome as well.”

            Captain Kogane inclined his head. “I’m sure we’d be happy to accept.”

            “We’ll take a carriage to Seaford and walk from there,” Lance replied. “Does that suit?”

            “It does.”

            “Though some of us may have to ride. Do you have a horse?”

            “I have nothing, Mr. McClain outside of an ill-earned fortune and a ship without a war,” he said with a self-effacing chuckle.

            “And now an acquaintance with Brighton’s most important social connection.”

            Kogane raised an eyebrow.

            “ _Me_ ,” Lance said, insulted that there had been even a question in the man’s mind.

            The captain laughed, and the sound of it was so bright and beautiful that Lance fully forgot his offense. It was in that stunned daze that Marco and the others returned, and Lance’s ears finally finished ringing just as the topic of the picnic lunch was discussed. Marco, as it happened, insisted on his own that Captains Kogane and Garrett join their family for the outing, and so Lance’s invitation would remain a secret between himself and the man.

            The party broke up at eleven, Lance and the rest of his family to walk the twenty minutes home to Royal Crescent. Their group paused on the street outside the Old Ship to say their good evenings to Captains Garrett and Kogane. Lance lingered a moment longer than the others.

            “I never caught your given name, Captain,” he said, loud enough only for his voice to carry to the other man’s ears.

            Captain Kogane turned and regarded Lance. The moon was bright above them, bright on the water and the wet stones of the beach.

            “It’s Keith,” he said.

            “Keith,” Lance repeated with a reverent nod.

            An incomprehensible smile crossed the captain’s mouth. “Good night, Mr. McClain.”

            “Good night, Captain,” Lance replied. He started to walk away, then called over his shoulder, “And don’t be late tomorrow morning. We’ll know who to blame if our lunch should spoil before we reach our destination.”

            “If there is one thing we learn in the Navy, Mr. McClain, it is perfect timing,” came the echoed reply.

            Lance pressed his lips together to silence a smile, the blush in his cheeks not entirely due to the wind off the Channel.

 

***

As a party of twelve on their own, the McClains required two carriages no matter where they went, and in order to make the journey to Seaford more comfortable for everyone, Lance was obliged to ride a borrowed mount alongside Marco—and Captains Garrett and Kogane.

            For all his claiming he did not own a horse, Captain Kogane was an excellent rider. Swift and beautiful astride a mare as black as his hair. With the cover of the ride to hide his attentions, Lance found himself admiring the man more often than he should have done. Keith kept easy pace with the foremost carriage, which carried Lance’s parents, grandparents, and Veronica. Lance spurred his own horse alongside him.

            “You’re more skilled than you let on,” he called.

            “Most would find it unseemly for a man to boast his talents,” Keith replied. “Though something tells me you do not hold the same reservations, Mr. McClain.”

            A playful smile sent Lance’s heart beating like the hooves on the ground beneath them.

            “Perhaps a race, then?” Lance said. “To the River Ouse crossing?”

            “I do not know the way,” Keith replied.

            “Can you follow a trail, Captain?”

            The man narrowed his eyes. “I’m a sailor, Mr. McClain. I require no trail.”

            “Then let the race begin!”

            With a peal of laughter, Lance kicked his horse and took off at an incredible pace. It was not one he was likely to maintain, but between the burst of speed and catching Captain Kogane by surprise, Lance was able to put a decent distance between himself and his opponent. The captain, however, quickly caught up.

            The pair of them tore across the countryside, wind in their hair. The distant, rolling hills of the South Downs swept by on their left while the sparkling water of the Channel on their right seemed almost stationary—just a cliff, and then the sea.

            It was, perhaps, the freest Lance had felt in recent days.

            They were forced to slow when they reached the limits of Newhaven, but the sight of the bridge impelled them both back to action. It was Keith who pulled ahead, his horse’s hooves stamping onto the bridge and across it before Lance was remotely in range. The captain slowed his horse and led her round to face Lance as he walked his own mount over the river.

            “You thought you were going to win, didn’t you?” Keith chuckled. His face was flush and bright with exercise.

            Lance offered him a smile. “It is no great loss.”

            Something startled and so worthy of affection scurried across the captain’s expression—something that nearly had Lance dropping his guard and abandoning propriety altogether, so he cleared his throat and put them back on course.

            “Besides, it was my duty to let you win. I couldn’t risk offending a guest.”

            The man’s expression turned sly. “If you say so.”

            God almighty, the turn of his lips. The manner in which he looked at Lance through his dark lashes. All the breath left Lance’s chest. Luckily, he had the race to cover for him.

            “Ought we to wait for your family?” Keith asked as Lance passed him and continued along the path.

            “It isn’t far to Seaford,” Lance replied. “They’ll meet us at the beach.”

 

***

Seaford Beach was a long, broad thing of orange rocks. Waves rolled against it, shaping strange, undulating patterns in the stones. In the distance, at the far end of the beach, Seaford Head was visible through the early afternoon haze—a sudden upshot of green hillside that met the sea with a white chalk cliff. The stretch of coast was completely empty in either direction.

            Captain Kogane dismounted his horse and tied her to a post before stepping onto the rocks and walking directly toward the sea. Lance found himself obliged to follow suit.

            “It is a mystery to me why some places become so fixed in the public mind when others make a far greater impression,” Keith said as Lance arrived beside him.

            Lance smiled, tucking his hands behind his back. “And this isn’t even the destination.”

            “The world would be a far pleasanter place if people concerned themselves less with destination and more with the methods they undertake to get there.”

            The captain’s countenance had darkened, his thick eyebrows drawing close together as he scowled over the sea. Lance did not know what to make of his comment, and so he said nothing, only cast a curious glance upon the man before turning his own attention to the sea and the waves breaking a few feet away. One of the true joys of a pebble beach was how close one could get to the water without getting his feet wet.

            “Do you swim, Mr. McClain?”

            Surprised by the question, Lance gave a stunted nod.

            “I do not.” Keith pursed his lips. “It’s considered bad luck, being a sailor who can swim. Merely a way of prolonging the agony should you fall overboard.” Glancing at Lance, he offered a grim smile. “Apologies. I’m afraid that wasn’t particularly pleasant conversation.”

            Lance shook his head. “No apology is necessary, Captain.”

            They were quiet for a moment, standing quite near to each other for a pair acquainted only yesterday. Lance had often felt upon meeting certain people that he already knew them well. Captain Kogane had a bit of that—a sort of easiness between the two of them—but he was different on the whole. With him, Lance felt as though it would be impossible to truly comprehend all aspects of his being. He was an enigma, a shadow, a flame—changing and flickering though technically constant.  

            “Tell me, Mr. McClain,” Keith said. “Do you sometimes find yourself burdened by the role you are expected to play?”

            Lance’s breath stuck in his throat. When he answered, it came out a whisper.

            “Yes.”

            Captain Kogane turned away from the sea to face him fully, and Lance was struck yet again by the man’s tempestuous beauty. Lance was never short of faces to admire, but this one was different. Perhaps because he was so near and so attainable. Perhaps because that attaining was forbidden.

            “As am I,” Keith said.

            Lance’s mouth stuttered open, but before he could find the means to reply, a call echoed across the beach from where their horses were secured.

            “Uncle Lance!”

            They turned to find Lance’s niece and nephew clambering out of their carriage and taking off across the rocks to come meet them by the water. Both barreled into Lance’s legs and nearly toppled him over the wave-carved ridge and into the water.

            “Who won the race?” Nadia asked, beaming at him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

            “Ah, that would be Captain Kogane,” Lance replied with a chuckle.

            “Ha! I knew it!” Nadia stuck her tongue out at Sylvio and received the same expression in kind. “I said the prince would win, didn’t I, Mama?”

            She turned to face Lisa as the woman picked her way down the beach. Laughing, Lisa shook her head and gratefully did not see the blush that had overtaken Lance’s features. Upon reaching them, Lisa pried her daughter off her brother-in-law.

            “That you did, my darling. Now come along. Sylvio, you can play on the beach at Cuckmere, put those rocks down.”

            Groaning, Sylvio dropped the collection of stones he’d gathered and stomped over to take his mother’s hand. By then, the rest of their party had disembarked their carriages and begun making their way along the coast toward Seaford Head.

            Lance only just stopped himself from offering Keith his arm.

 

***

The initial climb to the top of the cliffs was steep and troublesome for the party’s youngest and oldest members, but once they’d reached the top, it was an easy stroll along the coast to Seven Sisters. When the rippling white cliffs came into view from the trail, Captains Kogane and Garrett stopped in their tracks.

            “They’re _beautiful_ ,” Captain Garrett said, awed.

            “Keep moving, gentlemen!” Lance’s grandfather called from the front of the group where he was setting the pace. “They only get lovelier up close.”

            Fat, white clouds rolled across the blue sky overhead, blocking the sunlight in some places and letting it shine upon the Seven Sisters’ faces so that they almost seemed to glow. It was one of Lance’s favorite sights in all of Sussex.

            The addition of Captain Kogane might have made it his _most_ favorite.

            They made their way the remaining distance between themselves and the cliffs, carefully picking their way down the slope of the coast to cross the River Cuckmere and the stone beach that lay at the Seven Sisters’ base. The white chalk cliffs loomed tall overhead, and Captains Garrett and Kogane craned their necks back to look in wonder as the McClains set the picnic things out across the rocks. Sylvio and Nadia rushed down to the water, chasing a pair of undeserving gulls.

            Lance approached the captains.

            “Quite a sight, hm?” he asked.

            Both nodded, silent.

            “Sandwiches are served, gentlemen!” Lance’s mother called.

            Captain Garrett heeded the summons, but Keith lingered, and so Lance lingered with him. He watched as the man extended a hand and pressed it to the chalk face.

            “I’d forgotten, I think, the reason I was fighting,” he said, his voice soft. “It’s easy to forget when every day is open ocean and the French on the horizon waiting to destroy you.”

            “I wish I could say that I empathize, Captain, but I’m afraid I know little of war.”

            “It is a miserable business,” Keith replied. He let his hand slip from the cliff face and examined the white residue it had left on his skin. “No man should have to endure it, and yet it remains a guarantee of human existence.”

            “There are other guarantees.”

            Kogane turned his head to face Lance, a question quirking one of his eyebrows above the other only slightly as if to say, “Such as?”

            “Love?” Lance supplied.

            The captain straightened, his expression turning nigh-on indecipherable. With a chuckle, he brushed the chalk residue from his hands and said, “Ah, but is love a guarantee?”

            “It could be.”

            At once, their eyes locked and the rest of the world ceased to exist. They did not need to speak to communicate. For a few seconds, each understood the other perfectly. That was all that was required.

            “Another something Brighton has to offer,” Lance said.

            Keith smiled. “Then perhaps you will be good enough to educate me.”

 

***

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in jovial conversation and in chasing Nadia and Sylvio across the beach. As the sun began to dip closer to the horizon, the party packed up and took themselves back across the cliffs to Seaford and their carriages. They arrived in Brighton along with the night.

            Captain Garrett rode ahead as the group reached Royal Crescent, thanking them for the wonderful day out and saying that he was positively exhausted. The McClains said their goodbyes and went inside. Lance lingered on the doorstep, Keith and his horse on the street.

            “You know the way back to your lodgings?” Lance asked.

            “If I say no, would you give me directions or see me safely there?”

            The question was accompanied by a coy smile that made Lance’s stomach coil.

            “It would be my pleasure to attend you,” he replied.

            “Then I best come in and take tea with your family in order for there to be sufficient reason for an escort home,” Keith said.

            He did exactly that, making himself perhaps the most pleasant individual that had ever come to tea at the McClains, putting on such an air of gentlemanly good conduct that Lance nearly missed the subtle glances the man paid him from across the room. But he did not miss them, and by the time the hour arrived for Captain Kogane to return to his lodgings, Lance’s face was permanently flushed.

            “Could I trouble you for a guide, Mr. McClain?” Keith asked as Rachel passed him his hat and coat. “I’m afraid I don’t trust myself to navigate these streets in the dark.”

            “Nobody knows the Lanes better than Lance,” Rachel beamed.

            “Happy to,” Lance said.

            The pair hardly spoke on their way to the rooms Keith had taken above a shop in the Lanes. They returned his horse to her stable. They strolled the dense-packed and winding streets, and each step was a twist in the knot of Lance’s nerves—and his longing.

            “Will you come inside, Mr. McClain?” Keith asked, though both of them knew it was but formality. They were already climbing the stairs.

            “Lance. Please,” he replied.

            Scarcely had the door closed behind them than they had met in a hasty embrace—all teeth and tongue. It was painful, but there was _such_ pleasure in it. Lance pressed the captain between himself and the wall beside the door, pressed their desperate mouths together, pressed until he had to pull back to gasp for air. Even then, he dove under again, finding Keith’s neck beneath his collar and laving his tongue across that beautiful, pale skin.

            “ _Lance_ …”

            Every one of Lance’s hairs stood on end at that breathy address. He sucked his mouth against Keith’s throat and received a heady sigh and fingers carding through his hair in return. He pressed harder, hungry, kissing that neck over and over again while Keith whispered his name.

            “Lance… _Lance…_ ”

            He did not want the man to stop, but neither could he keep himself from a meeting of mouths. Lifting his head, he touched their lips together, kissing harder when he felt Keith kissing back, parting his lips and letting the man slip his tongue inside. Lance let his breath out and withdrew for but a moment.

            “Do you want this, Captain?” he asked as he studied Keith’s flushed face.

            The captain’s eyes flicked across Lance’s features, and he raised a hand to brush his fingers across Lance’s cheek and down his nose. That hand settled on Lance’s collar where it toyed with the fabric in this maddening way that almost had Lance crushing all the air from the man’s lungs in pressing him against the wall again.

            “I feel as though I know you, Mr. McClain,” Keith said. “You have seen in me a truth I do not readily put on display. You have been kind. Flirtatious, even. I must confess, I would not mind if your knowing me should extend to every possible interpretation.”

            Lance’s heart hammered against his chest, aching for freedom. Keith smiled, and his gaze lingered over Lance’s mouth a moment before his eyelids fell half-veiled to shroud those violet depths in thick, black lashes. Lance fell to him then, plunging headfirst into the deep.

            Their lips met again and again as they relieved each other of their clothes. With those clothes, they abandoned their costumes as well, their facades, the theatre and the roles they played and the shackles that came with them. There were so many scars across Keith’s skin—shallow across his ribs and lining his shoulders and deep in the curve of his thigh. Lance touched each one with reverence, and each whispered stories to him that he could not comprehend.

            The pair found their way in a haze of heat to the bed, and Lance eased Keith down among the blankets and the pillows.

            “Are you comfortable?” he asked, voice soft.

            Keith laughed, and the sound was sticky. “Don’t concern yourself with my comfort, Mr. McClain. Only with my pleasure.”

            In that moment, Lance found it almost impossible to breathe.

            They started gentle, but that was quickly abandoned in favor of desperate, starving, pleading passion. The pair moved against each other like the water and the rocks at Seaford—two opposites working in tandem to create such a force of raw, unstoppable natural beauty. Even as it came to an end and they collapsed beside each other, Lance knew that he would lie at Keith’s side for the rest of his life, no matter the cost.

            Their breath came heavy in the now-stuffy room. Lance eased himself over to cradle Keith’s warm body against his own. The man fit so perfectly in his arms. He kissed his shoulder, ran his fingers along the trembling muscles in his arms and legs. Keith relaxed, truly at ease for the first time since Lance had made his acquaintance.

            “Quite the education,” the captain chuckled.

            Smiling, Lance drew him closer. He held on for a moment, simply listening to him breathe. Smooth and steady like the waves on the shore.

            “I have so much more I could show you,” Lance said.

            For once, that statement carried with it not an ounce of innuendo. He was sincere, not speaking of physical intimacy, but emotional. He wanted to know everything about this man, to know him better than anyone else, to understand every scar, every furtive glance, every expression that existed in those beautiful eyes. The sentiment caught Keith off-guard. He started and turned over in Lance’s arms to look up at him in surprise.

            “Speak plainly,” he said.

            “I want to _know_ you, Keith,” Lance replied. “Every possible interpretation.”

            Several conflicting emotions passed across the captain’s face—joy, sorrow, anticipation, fear. The last one lingered.

            “That is impossible,” he said.

            “Why should it be?” Lance replied.

            “You know why.”

            A brutal statement brutally delivered. Keith’s eyes turned stony and he regarded Lance with frankness. It was a precarious position in which they found themselves, and they had already tempted fate too far. Any further and there was no telling what awaited them.

            Smiling, Lance smoothed his hands up Keith’s sides.

            “But we are both of us such convincing actors,” he said, relishing the way Keith drew in a breath at his touch. “Why should that not continue?”

            “For how long?”

            “As long as it takes.”

            Keith released his breath, and it shuddered. Lance lifted his eyes to his and held the man’s gaze. Such strength there. Such determination. Lance knew he was looking into the eyes of commitment, of duty and dedication. Keith took his face in his hands and pulled him close for a kiss. Lance curled around him, warm all over again.

            “This will not be easy,” Keith said, pulling back.

            Lance nestled their noses alongside each other and smiled. “A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor.”

**Author's Note:**

> The shanty Lance sings at the beginning is called "The Sailor Laddie/Rolling Sea" and Eliza Carthy does my favorite-ever version of it. Go listen.


End file.
